


(not) Giving Up

by ignite



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, But hopeful angst, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 22:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18082238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignite/pseuds/ignite
Summary: Hawke has made a lot of promises and has kept none of them. But this one… this one, he will keep to the end.The rest of the world will give up before he does.





	(not) Giving Up

**Author's Note:**

> written for this prompt on the kinkmeme aeons ago :
> 
> "a loving Hawke immediately post-DA2 trying to keep safe an Anders who has almost completely given up. Justice has done what he set out to do and retreated and Anders is overwhelmed with what he did. The conviction is still maybe under there somewhere - something he shared with Justice - but the mass-killing is not something he would have done on his own.
> 
> Hawke has to remind Anders to hide his face, to eat, to find a way to persuade him to keep going."
> 
> the prompt was inspired by this picture  
> http://dorkishdorkish1905.tumblr.com/post/150831756904/the-war-is-over-and-we-are-beginning
> 
> I wanted to polish the fill I wrote back then.

The moment Meredith finally stills in the middle of the Gallows courtyard, Hawke takes Anders’ hand and vows to never let it go.

It’s a quiet vow, made in the few heartbeats just after a difficult battle, when no one is moving, no one is talking, everyone is just breathing. He makes it to himself when he feels the hand in his grasp tremble, when he sees the golden eyes dull and the feathered shoulders slump.

He has made a lot of promises to a lot of people in his life. He promised his father he would look after his siblings ; he promised his mother a better, safer life ; he promised Carver he would take care of Mother. He promised the Viscount he would save his son and the terrified Mages in the caves that he would keep the Templars off their scent.

He has made a lot of promises and has kept none of them. But this one… this one, he will keep to the end. The rest of the world will give up before he does.

* * *

In the aftermath, there is no time to stop.

They run to Hawke’s mansion to grab coin and clothes. Hawke bundles Anders into the biggest cloak he owns. It’s black and thick and the hood hides half his face in shadow. Hawke tucks every strand of filthy golden hair under it.

He takes a scarf that he wraps around his own face, and leaves their staffs behind. The house is silent and dark, but the moment they step into the streets the world comes at them in a chorus of explosions and screams. People running, fleeing, calling for their loved ones, calling for help. There are Templars in armor striking people down, Mage or not ; a few others trying to restore order ; there’s Mages cowering in corners, terrified, their staff pointed at anyone who comes too close.

Hawke holds Anders’ hand and leads him through the streets without stopping for anyone. He can feel resistance, Anders slows down behind him, but Hawke just keeps going. He keeps running. No time to stop.

They slip through the night, take advantage of the chaos. They escape Kirkwall, though it’s still two days before they can truly say they’ve left the city behind. There are too many people fleeing in every direction.

They don’t sleep -there’s no time for that either. Anders’ weight gets heavier, pulling on Hawke’s arm, but Hawke doesn’t stop, doesn’t chastise him for slowing them down, doesn’t do anything except pulling the hood of his cloak back into place whenever it starts to slip.

 

* * *

 

It’s only once they reach a secluded beach that Hawke finally slows down. It’s quiet here. They can stay, if only for a little while.

He tugs Anders after him until their feet are digging into thin sand. Varric would have hated it here. Hawke didn’t even say goodbye to the dwarf, nor to any of them. Another promise he didn’t keep.

“Anders?” he tries, but he gets no response. He doesn’t give up that easily. “Do you want to get in the water a little? It might do us some good.”

Without waiting for an answer he knows won’t come, he starts to shed his clothes, and then helps Anders out of his.

Anders has always been too thin to Hawke’s liking but this is ridiculous. His bones pull like needles under a paper-thin skin, sallow and bruised. There’s no blood on him but the purple and blue marks that mottle his pale flesh have been here since they left Kirkwall. He hasn’t healed himself.

Hawkes pulls him into the water. The cold seems to rouse him a little, he jumps when the water gets to his belly. Hawke goes until they’re submerged to their chest. He washes Anders’ hair as best he can, tries to keep most of the water out of his eyes. Anders blinks slowly.

“Salt water isn’t the best, uh,” Hawke says quietly. It feels strange to talk, as if he’s disturbing some funeral wake. His voice is thin with disuse. “We’ll find a spring eventually, but this is better than nothing.”

Anders stays silent. Hawke pulls him out of the water, and dries him with the thick black cloak before putting him back into his clothes. He leaves the boots off ; when Anders sits down, his toes curl into the sand.

Hawke pulls bread from his satchel. His stomach is tied in a knot but they need to eat. He breaks the loaf in half and offers the bigger part to Anders.

Anders’ eyes flicker to it, briefly, before returning to the sea. Hawke bites his lip nervously. He hasn’t stopped, he hasn’t noticed just how lifeless Anders’ face has become since leaving. Gaunt and pale and blank.

But it’s all right. Hawke managed to bring light back into those eyes once, even in the seedy sewers of Darktown. He can do it again.

He takes Anders’ hand and puts the bread in it. “Eat, Anders. You’ll collapse if you don’t.”

Or maybe he won’t. Maybe Justice will keep him going until he simply dies standing.

Hawke won’t let it come to this. He closes Anders’ fingers around the piece of bread.

“Please. Just eat.”

It takes a moment, but eventually Anders does as he’s asked. Hawke feels such relief that he can’t help but smile, and when Anders realizes it, he looks surprised. It’s not much, but it is an emotion, and Hawke’s smile widens.

“You’re cute,” he says, and Anders’ eyebrows pull in a puzzled frown.

Anders doesn’t say anything all night, but it’s all right. Hawke stays awake, somehow, all night long, even as Anders eventually falls into a reluctant but exhausted sleep.

* * *

 

On the fourth day, Hawke’s head feels like it’s full of air, he has a headache, and it hurts to move. He has to fight to keep his eyelids from closing.

Anders caught some sleep here and there and is doing a little bit better. Hawke hates having to pull the cloak over his face once more, hiding his slightly more alert eyes and his slightly cleaner hair and turning him back into this mute, lifeless, colorless lump. That’s not Anders, that’s a nameless entity that robs him of everything he is.

They walk through wilderness. Hawke has no idea where he’s going, other than “away from Kirkwall” and “somewhere safe for Anders”. He’s not sure the second exists, but he can start with the first, and work from there. He’s decided to become an optimist. Someone has to.

He stumbles once. Twice. Three time. On the fourth, Anders’ hand pulls him back to his feet.

“You need to sleep,” says Anders.

Hawke turns around so fast his head is spinning. The hood is still pulled low, but Anders’ eyes are shining through the shadow it casts over his face, and looking directly into Hawke's eyes for the first time in days.

Hawke can’t help it. He lets out a giggle. It seems to only alarm Anders, who pulls him even closer.

“You need to sleep,” he repeats.

“Yes, I do,” agrees Hawke.

Anders looks around for a minute then starts pulling him toward a grove that could hide them from sight.

“Wait, Anders.” Hawke stops him. “I need to sleep, I know, but I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because you will slip away if I do.”

His eyes lower to the ground. His hand flexes around Hawke’s, an involuntary movement.

They can’t stand there and discuss ; Hawke spots a silhouette coming down the road. He quickly pushes Anders toward the trees and gets him to lay low on the ground, a hand forcing his head down, until the danger is passed.

When Hawke releases the pressure on Anders’ body, the mage looks up at him.

“Sleep,” he says, softly, quietly. “I’ll stay.”

“Really?”

Anders nods. Hawke wants to believe him -Maker, _he wants to believe him_. But he can’t bring himself to.

“Anders, if I wake up and you’re not here, I will lose my mind.”

“I’ll stay.”

There’s slightly more conviction. Hawke sighs.

“Please.” Hawke feels his throat tighten. He swallows a couple of times. “Please. Do not make me lose you too.”

It takes a moment, before Anders answers with a nod.

So Hawke curls up on the muddy ground, and he grabs Anders and hugs him against himself, and that’s how he falls asleep, his nose tickled by hair that smell like the sea.

* * *

 

Anders has not moved at all when Hawke wakes up.

He doesn’t want to admit to himself that he’s surprised, that he expected Anders to leave despite the promise. He’s had several nightmares about it. They are fading now that he’s awake, but they leave behind the crushing feeling of loneliness and failure.

But Anders is right here, locked into Hawke’s arms, face buried into Hawke’s shoulder.

Hawke softly kisses his forehead.

Anders startles. “You did not sleep enough.”

“We need to move.”

They clamber to their feet, stretching their sore muscles, shivering in the damp, cold morning. Hawke arranges the cloak around Anders, makes sure his eyes and hair are hidden, then adjusts his grip on his hand, and off they go.

They walk the whole day in silence, joining a bigger road hoping of finding a village. They need food. Hawke can’t help but feel exposed without his staff, but he couldn’t take the risk. It has never been a good time to be an apostate and right now, it might just be the worst.

They walk past several other travellers. Some are a little too friendly and try to strike up a conversation, and Hawke has to shut them down none too gently, glancing over his shoulder over and over to make sure there is nothing of Anders in the man shrouded in black that he pulls along.

Eventually they find their village. Hawke nervously brings Anders closer, clutching his hand tighter, keeping him right by his side. There is only one shop, and unfortunately the shopkeep is the first person to be oblivious to Hawke’s annoyed glares.

“You’re not from around here,” he babbles. “What brings you here, my friends?”

“Passing through,” says Hawke.

“Really? Where are you going?”

“Somewhere.”

“Ah, say no more!” says the shopkeep brightly. “I’ve seen a few of you around.”

“Of… us?”

“Escaping from Kirkwall, uh?”

Hawke’s heart skips a beat. Anders doesn’t react.

But the shopkeeper is oblivious. “A few of you already stopped by. Poor guys, they didn’t look very good. I’ve only heard a bit of what happened, but it seems like a right mess. Did you get caught in the fighting?”

“Something like that,” mumbles Hawke.

“Well, it was going to happen eventually,” muses the shopkeep, finally moving to wrap up the bread Hawke asked for. “Mages were always going to go mad, it was only a matter of time. Can’t keep all that power bottled up forever, can they? I said to my wife the other day, I said listen, I don’t understand why they’re not all Tranquils. Would save us a lot of trouble, eh? The people who stopped by the other day, right, they told me their child was caught in the blast when a Mage tried to fry a Templar. Just, bam! One second, no more son!”

Hawke feels Anders tense and hears a shaky breath. He snatches the bread and before the shopkeep can react, also takes some dried meat. He slaps more coins than all of this is worth on the counter and runs out.

The only place with a modicum of privacy is the shadow the local Chantry throws over a small alley. The sight of the building alone is enough to make Hawke want to turn around, but Anders is still breathing heavily behind him, and he can feel tremors coursing the hand he’s clutching so hard. So he steers them toward the Chantry, and makes Anders sit, his back against the wall.

Hawke crouches before him and dares to pull his hood off. He rakes fingers through knotted blond hair, caressing gently until Anders finally looks up at him. He looks so tired. Tired of everything, of life itself, of shouting into the Void for so long ; tired to the point of giving up.

“I killed all these people,” he whispers.

Hawke doesn’t know what to say. Himself has killed many people, some who didn’t deserve it. Where Anders went wrong is that he didn’t simply kill people. Kirkwall is too used to that to care. He killed an idea. He destroyed the Chantry and with it, chipped away at the false security it brought people. He set fire to the powder someone else had sprinkled over the city.

Anders shrinks on himself, trying to take less space, to escape the rest of the world. Hawke brings their forehead together, as if it would somehow enable him to read his mind.

“Anders. Please, don’t shut me out again.”

“This is not what I wanted,” he breathes.

“What did you want?”

Anders uncurls a little, and golden eyes filled with pain look at Hawke.

“Freedom.” He says it with so much reverence, as if it’s some kind of imaginary ideal, an idea too big to ever exist.

“It will happen.”

He shakes his head. “This is not freedom.”

“No,” agrees Hawke, because it would be stupid to say otherwise. “It’s not.”

“This is not how I wanted it to happen…”

Hawkes gently takes his hands and squeezes.

“Anders, this is not how it ends. I promise you, this is not the end. Things will change, people will change. This is only the beginning. Please, Anders. Trust me.” Hawke puts a finger under his chin and forces his head up. “I will not let it end like this. What you did will not be in vain.”

Anders says nothing. They can’t stay here like this. Hawke pulls the hood back over his head and gently nudges him to his feet, and they leave.

* * *

It rains. They walk along the coast as Hawke wonders if they should attempt to get a ride on a boat. It would get them far from the Free Marches and to Ferelden a lot faster, but it would expose them to a lot of people in a cramped space, risking Anders’ identity.

He asks Anders for his opinion. All he gets in a faraway stare, and then a mumble about the sea being a good place to disappear. Hawke decides he won’t ask for Anders’ opinions again for now. Also, no boat.

They find refuge in a shallow cave carved into the cliffs. There’s nothing but damp wood for the fire, but Hawke still gets a flame out of it, even without his staff.

He manages to make some soup and pushes a bowl of it into Anders’ freezing hands. Anders looks down at the bowl as if he doesn’t remember what to do with it.

“Eat,” says Hawke. His voice echoes in the silence of the cavern.

Anders glances at him, then back at his bowl, and brings it to his lips. Hawke smiles a little, though he just wants to cry.

He sits next to Anders, lets him eat in silence before taking the bowl away from him and bringing him close.

Anders falls asleep eventually. He’s exhausted, he’s been exhausted since Hawke met him. Hawke manoeuvres the both of them to the ground and folds Anders against him, holding him tight, and lets himself sleep as well.

They stay in the cave the next day as rain keeps pouring down, turning the whole world grey and miserable. Hawke snuggles up to Anders and lets him keep his silence.

The sun eventually comes back. Hawke once more pulls the cloak around Anders, tucks his loose hair behind his ears. His hand brushes against the tip of the man’s nose -it’s freezing cold. Hawke hesitates a moment, before taking his own scarf off and wrapping it around Anders’ neck instead. He pulls it a little higher, hiding mouth and part of the nose behind it.

Anders lets him do, but his eyes follow Hawke’s movements under a slight disapproving frown.

Hawke snorts, happy to see yet more emotions. “Have you ever seen me get sick? I’ll be fine. You’re freezing and you have no meat on you, you need it more than me.”

They walk for three days straight. They must be getting close to Ferelden. Hawke doesn’t know what he’s expecting to find there… Not Templars, at least not on this road, not now, but that’s who they meet. The men turn their gaze upon them and Hawke can’t decide if he’s happy or terrified not to feel the weight of his staff on his back.

Anders starts to shake. Hawke isn’t sure if it’s anger, or fear, or guilt, or even Justice finally rearing its ugly head, but it’s not anything good.

The Templars are busy doing something by the side of the road and Hawke hunches over, lowers his eyes, anything not attract their attention. He doesn’t need to remind Anders to stay hidden -the man is practically folded in half already, making himself as small as possible.

But the Templars are preoccupied with something else entirely. They walk past them in a hurry, muttering between themselves. Hawke still doesn’t allow himself to relax until half an hour and a good distance have passed.

Anders is nowhere near relaxed. Hawke stops in a small gathering of trees and sits him on a fallen trunk, and pulls the hood and scarf off.

“Anders? Are you all right, love?”

Anders shakes his head. Hawke just starts brushing his hair with his fingers. He wants to say platitudes, “It’s going to be all right” and “We’ll get through this,” but he’s pretty sure Anders will never believe it.

Instead, he says, “I’m here for you,” because that’s a truth nobody can dispute. Not Anders and his fears, not Justice and his temper, not the blighted Templars and their swords. Nobody will pull Hawke away.

They wait, until Anders’ shaking subsides and his breathing slows, until night starts to fall. Then they get up and keep walking.

* * *

“Where’s Justice?”

Anders stills. They haven’t slept in two days, they’re tired and hungry, this road is deserted, and Hawke can’t stop himself from asking the question.

He turns around, looks at Anders who’s rooted where he stands, head down and shoulders tensed.

“Anders?” tries Hawke. “It’s okay. It’s all right if you don’t want to answer.”

“He’s here,” says Anders in a croak. He hasn’t talked in so long, Hawke nearly forgot the sound of his voice.

Hawke’s heart sinks a little. He never thought Justice was gone, but maybe a tiny part of him had hoped. It’s been some time since Kirkwall and the spirit… demon... hasn’t shown itself at all.

“He’s quiet,” says Anders, nearly in a whisper.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” asks Hawke cautiously. He squeezes Anders’ hand.

But Anders looks up at him with, and Hawke can feel his heart break a little more.

“He did what he wanted,” says Anders tremulously. “His task is over. He’s… settled.”

“So you are alone in your head,” says Hawke. “That’s a good thing.” Silver lining and all that. Hawke’s still committed to this optimism thing.

“No,” says Anders softly. “I don’t want to be alone in my head. It’s loud in here, Garrett. It’s too loud...”

“What?” Now worry is climbing up Hawke’s chest. “What are you talking about?”

“I keep hearing them,” murmurs Anders. “The people I killed. They’re screaming in my head.”

Maker’s balls. “Anders…”

“The ones in the Chantry, the ones in the streets. All the Mages who are being slaughtered. That child the shopkeeper told us about. I keep hearing them all.”

“Anders, love, look at me.” He doesn’t, but Hawke doesn’t let it stop him. “Their deaths aren’t on you.”

“I wasn’t aware someone else blew up the Chantry.” The sarcasm is almost welcome, it makes Anders sound normal again.

“That was Justice’s doing. You told me yourself. He was pushing you on.”

Anders shakes his head. “I accepted Justice into me. I fed him only anger and resentment.”

“You are allowed to feel anger and resentment. You’re human! You have every right to feel that way after the shit hand life dealt you. You accepted Justice to save your friend and then you just lived your life. That spirit went wrong on its own.”

“But I wanted the Chantry to explode!”

It’s almost a scream, and Hawke quickly looks around to make sure nobody’s around.

“Anders…”

“It's not just Justice, Hawke! I’ve dreamed about it, I’ve wanted to hurt Templars and make them pay for all the lives they destroyed, for Karl, for all the Tranquils, and-... and… I don’t know.” He slumps forward, his head in his hands. “I’ve wanted to hurt them, I've wanted to destroy it all, but I never… I never thought I would… It shouldn’t have happened this way.”

Hawke pulls him against himself.

“No, it probably shouldn’t have happened this way. But it is done, and now all we have left is to survive. Get up, get going, and we’ll see how this truly ends. The Chantry, the Templars, all of Thedas… they’re going to give up before I do. Before we do.”

Anders snorts an ugly little laugh. “I gave up the day I decided to lie to you.”

That hurts. Remembering Anders lying to his face hurts -a lot. It’s Hawke’s turn to stay silent. He just holds his love until they’re both too tired to do anything but lie down and try to sleep.

* * *

The fear stays. It haunts their steps, makes every noise sound like the clang of armor or a voice shouting their name. But the urgency eventually goes away.

They slow down. Hawke doesn’t worry about tucking every last strand of Anders’ hair under the cloak anymore. He still doesn’t let go of his hand -he won’t let go of his hand-, but his grip is gentler. They brave more villages, get more supplies. Hawke’s coin pouch gets lighter and lighter.

They learn about what is happening in Thedas. Kirkwall’s disaster is on all the lips, even in the most remote villages. The Circles are in turmoil, the Templar Order is becoming dangerously unstable, and in the middle of it all, people are trying to live their lives while being absolutely terrified of what tomorrow will bring.

Welcome to the club, thinks Hawke callously.

They find the courage to spend a night in an inn. Anders’ face is hidden by hood and scarf, his body rendered shapeless by the cloak, and nobody bats an eye.

The chairs and mattress make Hawke feel like the Maker came back just to bless his back. He got used to the terrible conditions of the last… how long has it been? Weeks? Months? He doesn’t know.

He orders a hot bath and a hot meal. There goes the last of his coin, but they’ll be fine. They still have some dried food left and… they’ll figure it out. Maker, he’s really becoming an optimist… He chose a weird time for it.

He undresses Anders, tries not to show any reaction to seeing his emaciated body, and pulls him into the bathtub. He brings in a stool and sits by Anders’ head, and grabs the soap and a cup.

Anders looks at him in surprise when Hawke takes his arm and starts washing him, but he doesn’t say anything. Hawke scrubs away filth, mud, some blood here and there from falls and scratches. When it’s time to do Anders’ face, he’s greeted with the sight of tear-filled eyes.

“Why are you doing all this?” asks Anders quietly.

Hawke sighs. He takes the cup, fills it with water and promptly dumps it all over Anders’ head. The Mage jerks, spluttering as water dribbles into his mouth.

“Garrett!” he protests, and Hawke smiles.

“I love you.”

Anders stops flailing. He looks back at Hawke, with his hair now plastered to his head.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” says Hawke casually. He moves on to Anders’ hair, starts undoing the knots. “I’ll stay by your side until the end and nothing you say or think can change that.”

“I destroyed your home.”

“My home is wherever you are.”

“I killed innocent people.”

“So have I.”

“I corrupted a spirit.”

“You were being human.”

“Garrett.” Anders takes Hawke’s wrists and stops his ministrations. “Why?” he asks.

“Because, Anders. You lied to me about your plans, you told me I wouldn’t understand. Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe, you’re the one who doesn’t understand?” He cups Anders' gaunt cheek, thumb rubbing a smudge of dirt off his cheekbone. "I love you. I want to live my life, no matter where, or how, with you at my side."

There a silence. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“That’s not kindness. It’s love. Did I mention I love you?”

Anders releases his wrists, and Hawke goes back to washing his hair. Afterwards, Anders gets out of the tub and dries and dresses himself. It’s the first time Hawke hasn’t had to push and prod him into moving. And when it's Hawke's turn to enter the bath, Anders sits on the stool and watches him silently.

In bed, Hawke rolls to his side and folds Anders into his arms, and they fall asleep.

* * *

 

Hawke wakes up and Anders is not here.

The pure panic that runs through him is indescribable. He jumps out of bed, he wants to scream his name but his throat is too tight. He runs to the door and wrenches it open and is about to tear down the hallway when a voice comes from behind.

“I’m here.”

Hawke whirls on his heels, eyes wide and heart beating wildly, and Anders is here indeed, just coming out of the bathroom and looking a bit sheepish.

Hawke is on him so fast he doesn’t even remember crossing the room. He hugs him tight and kisses him and runs his hands on his back.

“Anders, don’t do that to me,” he says when his breath finally comes back.

“I just wanted to wash a little.”

Hawke pulls away a little bit and looks at him more slowly. His eyes are red and puffy.

“Were you crying?”

Anders looks down in shame, but Hawke just brings him closer again.

“Maker, Anders. You can cry. As long as you stay by my side you can scream and cry and punch the wall if it pleases you. You scared the shit out of me…”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

Hawke feels Anders’ arms wrap around him and his heart soars. Now he’s the one trying not to cry.

… He fails. He’s crying. Shit.

He clutches Anders tightly and cries into his shoulder, unsure if it’s out of grief or joy or… something. Anders holds him and it just makes it harder to stop.

* * *

Before they leave the inn, Hawke adjusts Anders’ cloak out of habit, like he has done a hundred times before. This time however, Anders’ hands join his.

Hawke looks at him, slightly puzzled, but Anders gives him the tiniest of smiles, making his gentle eyes crinkle. Hawke smiles too and steps back, and lets Anders pull the hood over his own head. Then Anders reaches out, and takes Hawke’s hand.

They still have a long road ahead of them, but it’s going to be all right.

Thedas will give up before they do.


End file.
